


Il Capitano Futuro

by LeapAngstily



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-05
Updated: 2013-02-05
Packaged: 2017-11-28 07:52:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/672033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeapAngstily/pseuds/LeapAngstily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three ways people congratulate Riccardo for his captaincy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ambrosini

**Author's Note:**

> Three ficlets written to celebrate Montolivo’s captaincy and Milan’s victory over Juventus in December 2012. Can be read separately or as a series (which would of course make Monty one big slut, but see if I care).

Riccardo stands in front of the mirror, hair falling on his face (he pulls them back with a hairband he snatched from someone’s bag), the red and black of his jersey making him look even paler than he actually is, the captain’s armband around his right bicep looking utterly unfamiliar – like it is only a figment of his imagination.  
  
It is a great honour, he knows, to be chosen as the captain of the most successful club in the world. He knows it is only because Ambrosini and Abbiati are not playing, but it is still a huge responsibility.  
  
Quite frankly, he is scared shitless: scared to walk out of the dressing room, scared to face his teammates, his opponents, and the booming crowd in the San Siro.  
  
The armband feels too tight on his arm – tight enough to stop the blood flow into his fingers. He can almost feel the imagined numbness spreading down his arm.  
  
His teammates are slowly trickling out of the dressing room, some of them offering him words of encouragement his brain refuses to understand. This is _Juventus_  they are facing: this is the biggest challenge this new Milan has faced up to date.  
  
The thought makes his breath catch and for a moment he thinks he might actually pass out.  
  
It was never like this with Fiorentina.  
  
He can see Ambrosini approaching him from the mirror before the man actually reaches him. A firm hand is placed on his shoulder, almost touching the armband. The feeling of tightness diminishes immediately.  
  
“Nervous?”  
  
Riccardo cannot answer, the words stuck in his throat, so he just catches the captain’s eye through the mirror and nods hesitantly. He does not deserve this honour; he is not strong enough to lead the team. Not yet.  
  
“It’ll be fine – you were chosen for a reason.”  
  
Ambrosini holds his gaze resolutely, and something in his soft, steady voice seems to blow away the doubts from Riccardo’s mind. Of course it is going to be alright, because this is his captain telling him so.  
  
The distance between them is closing inch by inch, their eye-contact never breaking, until Riccardo can feel the firm chest pressed against his back, the captain’s warm breath on his neck.  
  
A shiver runs down his spine as Ambrosini ghosts his lips over his ear and runs his fingers slowly down his arm, over the white armband and along the sensitive skin until he reaches his hand. Riccardo’s fingers twitch at the touch, but still he opens his palm and allows the captain to intertwine their fingers gently.  
  
“You’re ready. I know it, the team knows it,  _presidente_  knows it,” Ambrosini’s voice is barely audible, his lips practically touching Riccardo’s ear by now, “All you need to do is to believe it yourself.”  
  
And just like that the remains of his fear are gone, replaced by an immense sense of belonging. There is no reason to be nervous, because he is among friends – among family – and everyone believes in him. They accept him as their captain despite all his shortcomings.  
  
“Now, go kick some Juve ass,  _capitano_ ,” Ambrosini tells him, and Riccardo can hear the laughter in his voice. There is a fleeting sensation of warm lips on his neck, and then the man is gone.  
  
Riccardo can still feel his captain’s warmth on his back as he walks to the pitch, head held high and finally ready to face whatever the night is going to throw in his way.


	2. Buffon

He is high on the victory, on the adrenaline still rushing through his veins. At that moment, he feels like he can do anything he wants, be whatever he wants. He could conquer the whole world and no one could stop him.  
  
“You’re being unusually aggressive today,” Gigi laughs at him as Riccardo pushes him down to the bed and pins him down with his own body.  
  
“It’s because I’m the captain,” he answers like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He busies his hands with Gigi’s belt, latches his lips on the goalkeeper’s neck, licking and biting the soft skin just below his jaw.  
  
“So am I,” Gigi points out bemusedly, but his hands are firm on Riccardo’s hips, pulling him even closer to his body, more than happy to indulge his whims for now.  
  
Riccardo manages to open the belt and the fly of Gigi’s trousers without interrupting the assault on his neck. He moves higher, bites Gigi’s earlobe playfully, drawing a quiet gasp from the man’s lips before slipping his hand under the waistband of his boxers.  
  
“I’m the captain of the  _winning_  team,” he whispers impishly. He finds the awaiting erection and the first strokes are enough to make Gigi buck up into his hand and let out a low groan.  
  
“Don’t get too cocky, boy,” Gigi growls at him, amusement sparkling in his eyes, and Riccardo has no time to react before their positions are flipped, the older man suddenly looming over him, predatory grin lighting up his face.  
  
And Riccardo throws his head back and  _laughs_ , lets out all the delight that has been bubbling right underneath his skin since the final whistle. He is joined by Gigi’s soft chuckle before he catches Riccardo’s lips in a scorching kiss, effectively halting his laughter.  
  
It is the first kiss they have shared tonight, and Riccardo refuses to let go, engulfing himself into Gigi’s lips so deeply that for a moment it feels like it is only the two of them in the whole universe.  
  
For that one moment he really does conquer the world.  
  
It is Gigi who reluctantly pulls away from the kiss after what feels like an eternity. He stays close, his breath tickling Riccardo’s lips, like daring him to close the distance again.  
  
Riccardo does – just because he can – but this time the touch of their lips is more fleeting, more familiar and playful than needy or desperate.  
  
“So, wanna fuck Andrea?”  
  
The question is so sudden that it forces another bout of laughter out of Riccardo’s mouth. It is only when he meets Gigi’s gaze that he notices that maybe the goalkeeper is not joking around.  
  
“You serious?” he asks hesitantly, searching Gigi’s eyes for a confirmation of some sort, careful not to let his hopefulness seep into his voice.  
  
“You’re the captain, aren’t you?” Gigi is leaning on his elbows now, looking down at Riccardo one eyebrow raised, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips, “You can do whatever you want, right?”  
  
Riccardo bites his lip, not quite sure whether he can believe what he is hearing. He glances towards the bathroom door, the steady sound of shower muffled by the closed door but still just barely audible.  
  
“Of course, he might have managed to drown himself in there by now – I’m not sure you’d go for that,” Gigi quips quite unhelpfully, and then he leans down to bite the juncture of Riccardo’s neck just hard enough to leave a mark.  
  
Captain or not, it is always Gigi who has the upper hand.  
  
But just for tonight, Riccardo is ready to fight for that advantage. Because he is the captain as well.  
  
“Well then, we better go make sure he doesn’t succeed, huh?” he notes gently, bucking up his hips to shake Gigi’s weight off his body.  
  
The goalkeeper just laughs before pulling Riccardo up along with him.


	3. Pazzini

It is early morning and Riccardo is dead-tired by the time he finally comes home.  
  
He kicks his shoes off in the corridor, drops his jacket and shirt to the living room floor and manages to wriggle out of his jeans as he makes his way to the bedroom.  
  
The bed creaks under his weight as he kicks off his socks and underwear and slumps down onto the mattress, the sudden dip eliciting an annoyed huff from the other side of the bed.  
  
“Sorry,” he whispers, his words slurring with sleepiness but still he has enough energy to dive under the blankets and to snuggle himself comfortably into the other man’s arms, his head nested at the crook of his neck.  
  
“’M sleeping…” Giampaolo mutters in a tone that does not quite manage to convey his irritation.  
  
“So am I,” Riccardo retorts cheekily and throws his arm over his lover’s bare chest, entangles their legs together in attempt to get warmer. Giampaolo huffs at him again but his hand still finds its way into Riccardo’s hair, combing through the unruly curls.  
  
The silence between them stretches; Giampaolo’s soft caresses on his hair are the only movement in the room for a while, until it stops too, the fingers still buried in the dark strands.  
  
“Giampaolo? You still awake?”  
  
The man hums in a way that might be an affirmative answer, or it might be just an automatic response through the sleep. Riccardo continues anyways, rubbing his nose affectionately against Giampaolo’s jaw.  
  
“I’m gonna be the captain again. I’m gonna deserve it for real next time.”  
  
Another hum, the hand untangles from his hair and moves to caress the back of his neck, but Giampaolo still does not respond.  
  
“You never congratulated me on the captaincy…” Riccardo pouts, his lips pressed softly against Giampaolo’s skin so that he can feel it too. He is not actually angry: he knows how frustrating it must be for his friend, not being able to play regularly while seeing others going forward.  
  
“There was no need,” Giampaolo mutters against Riccardo’s hair before he shifts back just enough to come face to face with him. The first rays of sunlight have sneaked inside the room and the light makes the bags under Giampaolo’s eyes appear even darker than Riccardo remembered.  
  
“I’d follow you anywhere even without the stupid armband – I always have, ever since we were kids,” Giampaolo tells him quietly, the earlier sleepiness all but gone from his voice, “And I always will, no matter how much of a spoiled brat you are.”  
  
He pulls Riccardo into a quiet, unhurried kiss before the midfielder can say anything.  
  
“Happy now?” he asks in a voice that almost manages to hide his exasperation. Riccardo cannot help the chuckle that escapes his lips.  
  
“Never knew you were such a romantic.”  
  
Giampaolo rolls his eyes and pulls Riccardo firmly against his chest, kissing his hair and running his hands down the bare back, “Just shut up and go to sleep, will you?”  
  
And for once Riccardo obliges, because he finally got the answer he was looking for.


End file.
